i'll stop the world
by jeeno2
Summary: Or: four times Rey and Kylo Ren don't kiss, and one time they do.


_a/n: Because I haven't_ really written _for a fandom until I've written a "Five Times" fic for it. ;)_

* * *

i.

The first time she sees him again after Luke's death – after the near destruction of the Resistance by his own hand – he is pleading with her.

"Don't go."

Rey's eyes widen in surprise at the tone of his voice. At how broken he sounds.

She's only heard him like this, seen him like this, once before. In the throne room, weeks ago, after Snoke and the guards but before everything else went straight to hell. The look he gives her now is like the one he gave her then, all hooded eyes and desperation, his bottom lip trembling, belying his vulnerability.

Tonight their bond has not shown her Kylo Ren, the fearless and feared Supreme Leader of the galaxy. It has shown her only the terrified boy who wears his clothes. The sight of him like this tugs uncomfortably at her heart.

She can't give him what he really wants from her. Absolution. Forgiveness. Someone to stand by his side as he smashes his angry fist through the stars and forces the galaxy to bend to his will.

But he just looks so _frightened_. So tired. Dark circles ring his bloodshot eyes, and his hair is utterly wrecked, like he's spent hours running his hands through it in nervous agitation.

Before she can talk herself out of doing it she takes a tentative step towards him. Then another, and another, until she's standing just a few inches from where he sits, elbows resting on his knees, in his elegant chair.

She reaches out, tentatively, with her hand. He stiffens at first, and then all the tension seems to go out of him at once as she curves the palm of her hand, gently, around his cheek.

His eyes flutter closed and a shuddering sigh escapes him.

"Don't go," he says again, leaning into her touch. Begging her now. "Please."

But she can't stay. Not like this, not the way he wants her to. He knows it as well as she does.

"I'll stay for a bit," she concedes, nodding. That much she can do. Stay with him for a while. Comfort him as best she can, if her presence helps quiet the demons that plague him. "Just for a little while."

His breath hitches at her words, and he pulls her closer.

* * *

ii.

Rey wakes to the strange, unmistakable _pinging_ sensation that always accompanies the activation of their bond.

Her stomach sinks. "Not now," she mutters into her pillow.

Not that the Force ever listens to her, of course.

He doesn't say anything, but she knows he's there, watching her. He's breathing very heavily, and even from across their bond, even though he's likely light years away, Rey can sense the fury rolling off him in waves.

He's at her bedside in two long strides, the stack of documents he'd been holding fluttering to the ground, forgotten.

She cracks an eye and sees him, fists clenched and nostrils flared in anger, hovering over her bed.

"Who did this to you?" he demands, his tone clipped and his words precise. His eyes scrutinize her body, searching for signs of injury.

She doesn't answer. "Why are you here?" she asks instead.

He huffs. "It's not by choice, I assure you."

She ponders that a moment. She wonders if somehow, he'd been able to sense her fever from wherever it is he's hiding. And if that's all it had taken for their bond to flare to life.

Even after all these weeks spent connected to him she has no idea how any of this works. Neither of them do.

"No one did this to me," she eventually says. "I have the flu. That's all." She swallows, and her eyes slip shut. This conversation is already wearing her out. "Don't you have someplace else you need to be?"

"I do," he agrees. But he doesn't leave. Without warning he shucks off one of his gloves and takes her hand in his. In spite of herself, she shivers at the sensation of his too-cool fingers interlacing with hers. "But I'm not going anywhere until I'm convinced you're all right."

At that, Rey rolls her eyes. She tells herself she's irritated, not touched, by the sentiment. "Why do you care? You want us all dead anyway."

Still holding her hand, and without waiting for an invitation, he sits gently on the edge of her bed. His dark eyes are soft, concerned, and although Rey can handle many things having to do with Kylo Ren she doesn't know what to do with the look he's giving her right now.

"I will _never_ want you harmed," he tells her, his words gentler than any caress.

When she wakes in the morning he is gone, the faint but unmistakable scent of his soap still lingering on her pillow.

* * *

iii.

The next time she sees him, it's in his solar. The first thing that occurs to her is she's never seen him look so pale.

It's only when she takes a step closer that she can see the bandages peeking out from beneath his half-undone shirt, and the bright red blood seeping through them.

Her eyes go wide.

"Why – why are you bleeding?" she says stupidly.

He looks up at her and gives her a small, wry smile.

"Tatooine," he says simply. He shrugs, and winces at the fresh pain that small movement causes him. "The battle didn't go as well for us as it did for you." He closes his eyes. "As you know."

 _Tatooine_.

He's right about that assessment, of course. Poe Dameron reported they'd taken down at least ten First Order destroyers for every ship the Resistance lost. Rey had celebrated the victory with the rest of them that night, not even considering that Ben might have been on one of those ships.

She looks at him, and she hates herself a little for the way her heart clenches at the sight of him in so much pain.

She thinks for a moment, then makes up her mind.

"Let me see," she says, moving towards him.

He frowns and shrinks back into his chair. "No."

She pays him no mind, and finds the cloth in the washbasin beside him on the table.

She rinses it out and moves closer.

He pales. "You... don't need to do this, Rey."

Kylo's words are terse, pained, but Rey ignores his protests. She starts with the wounds she can see, focusing intently on her work and making certain all the blood is wiped clean.

"Your people did a terrible job with these stitches," she mutters as she rinses her soft cloth in the washbasin. She grimaces at how pink the water is now. "They're sloppy and uneven. You'll probably scar."

Kylo chuckles dryly at that, small puffs of air she can feel through their bond against the sensitive skin of her throat.

"Like I care about more scars," he mutters.

And then his whole body tenses as she deftly undoes the buttons of his shirt.

His eyes are soft and unfocused as she works over his shoulder, down his chest, with her damp cloth.

When she's finished, and he regards her with something akin to reverence, Rey blushes, and marvels at how terrible they are at pretending.

* * *

iv.

"… _Oh_."

Rey's eyes pop open at the sound of Kylo's strained voice, coming from just to the right of her bed.

She hastily slides her hand out from where it had just been – between her legs; inside her thin cotton underwear; inside _her_ – and tries to get her breathing back under control.

"Ben," she says. She wants to sound angry with him, because she _is_ angry with him. She is _definitely_ angry with him, in fact, and not at all secretly pleased that he showed up here, now, of all possible times.

But she doesn't sound angry at all. She is breathing fast and hard, still coming down from the fantasy that was playing out behind her closed eyelids when he showed up here in person – and instead of saying his name forcefully like she'd intended it leaves her lips on a breathy sigh.

She collects herself and tries to look composed. It's difficult. "Why… why are you here?" she stammers. And, more to the point: "How long have you been just… standing there, staring at me?"

He doesn't respond right away. His eyes are glassy and unfocused. He looks terrified. He scrutinizes her face, then takes in her rumpled bedsheets and flushed appearance.

He swallows thickly and Rey watches as his Adam's apple bobs, once, in his throat.

"I just got here," he says tersely, his words clipped and precise. "Just long enough ago to know that you… that you were just –"

He can't finish the sentence. He looks away, unable to hide his deepening blush.

Rey's stomach flips uncomfortably.

She swallows. "Ben –" she begins, and then trails off.

She has no idea what to say to him. What the hell is she _supposed_ to say to him? That she'd just been touching herself while thinking of him?

Before she can decide on the right words he makes a pained, strangled noise in the back of his throat, and he's gone.

Rey is no stranger to physical pleasure.

The nights on Jakku were lonely and long. On nights she couldn't sleep, her slender fingers would sometimes find their way beneath her clothes, and she would touch herself until stars burst behind her eyelids and her body relaxed enough for sleep to find her.

Sometimes – not often; only once in a while – when loneliness got the better of both her and her good judgment, she would spend the night with a neighbor of hers, another scavenger, his skin blasted by a lifetime in the sun and with large, calloused hands. He wasn't much to look at, and most of the time she couldn't be bothered to stay with him the whole night. But he filled a need. Helped scratch an itch that, on occasion, she couldn't reach by herself.

None of these fumbling prior experiences, however, prepared Rey for what it would be like to want Ben.

She tells herself she shouldn't want him, of course. But it's no use. What she feels for him is so visceral, so intense, that it's somehow transformed from the hatred it once was into something else altogether. When she touches herself now, it's always his fingers he imagines instead of her own. His mouth on her breast. His length inside her wet heat.

Does he think about her like that, too?

She dismisses the idea as ridiculous.

Kylo appears by her bed again the next night, his face more flushed than she's ever seen it, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his trousers.

"Great," he mutters to himself. He scrubs a hand over his face in agitation. "Just what I needed."

And then, a moment later she hears, through their bond: _I want to know how you… do that._

He doesn't clarify what he's referring to. But he doesn't have to.

Her heart starts beating a rapid staccato in her chest at his wild confession – but then she wonders if perhaps he doesn't realize she'd heard his thoughts.

But then, a moment later, she hears: _No, Rey._ _I know you heard me. And… I'd give anything to know how to please you._

He slams his eyes shut and clenches his hands into tight fists at his sides. He looks like he's in agony.

He says, aloud: "It's all I've been able to think about for weeks."

 _I hate that you get to touch yourself whenever you want – and I don't._

Rey takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as one of the maddest plans she's ever come up with begins to take shape in her mind.

"Ben –" she begins.

He opens his eyes.

"Come here," she says.

He frowns at her. "Why?"

Rey tries to take a steadying breath.

What the hell is she about to do?

This is a _terrible_ idea.

But before she can talk herself out of it she says, very quietly: "I'll… show you."

She reaches out a hand towards him.

His eyes go wide.

He takes it.

* * *

v.

It's clear right away that Ben has no idea what he's doing.

He'd accepted her offer eagerly enough. Though perhaps his eagerness is part of the problem. He lacks any sort of patience or finesse as he kisses her, as he touches her, all nipping teeth and bumped elbows and jangling nerves as she lies him back down on the mattress and undresses him.

He fumbles awkwardly at the straps of her tunic, his hands shaking so badly he can hardly manage it.

Rey can't help but wonder if he's never done this before.

"Ben," she says gently, laying her small hands over his, stopping him. He looks up at her, pulling his luscious bottom lip between his teeth.

His eyes are filled with so much fear, and raw, desperate need. It makes her feel bold. Powerful.

 _Mine_ , she thinks, suddenly, fiercely. _You are_ _mine._

His eyes widen in surprise. Rey realizes – too late – that he'd heard her.

But if he's angry, or horrified, he shows no sign of it.

 _I_ am _yours_ , he confirms without words. A small smile plays at the corners of his lips. It makes him look younger. Almost shy. He raises first one hand, then the other, and covers each of her small, bare breasts. He gives them both a squeeze that's both a bit too rushed and utterly perfect all at the same time. _If you want me to be, that is. Just please – don't leave me_.

They're naked, lying next to each other in her narrow bed. But with that urgent plea she knows it's his soul that's been laid bare.

She can't find the words to reassure him that, like it or not, she isn't going anywhere.

She decides to show him instead.

He lets her.


End file.
